


I See Family

by R_Black



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Gen, POV Alternating, Sendak and Kolivan are brothers, servant is named Marmora here, slight m-preg BUT they are aliens after all, this is not ship centric, this is the final reality in the last season--the one before the multiverse collapses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 09:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20337622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Black/pseuds/R_Black
Summary: In the final reality, Prince Kolivan is a foster son of Emperor Zarkon, and brother of Prince Sendak. His whole life, he's figured he's known who he is and where he belongs. But, soon he'll have to find out something about his past that turns his view on the world upside down...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Galra Big Bang 2k19. My artist partner this time was ThaceMun and they have provided a beautiful art piece to accompany the story!

The dull colors of Daibazaal were almost enough to make Blaytz vomit. They were interesting from afar, but one could only get used to red and grey for so long. As much as he enjoyed the dinners and parties with his fellow allies, he did _not_ like it when it was Zarkon’s turn to host.

For one thing, the _colors_.

For another, it was the class system.

Blaytz was not used to seeing a race enslave half (or more) of its members. His own planet—Nalquod—was a free one; they had abolished slavery over 3000 years ago after deciding it was far better to be peaceful to those you shared finite resources with. Most of the others in the Great Alliance were of a similar mindset.

But then there was Zarkon and his Galra. As powerful and gracious as the Galra were, it was such a damn shame they were so set in their classist ways. Blaytz wondered what sort of advancements they’d have if they weren’t so classist. If the so-called servant class was allowed to think for themselves, what sort of genius would come of it?

He glanced over at the servants hovering just beyond the table at which the leaders sat. He caught the eye of one in particular and winked. The servant barely blushed, their crest beginning to flare in color. Another servant prodded them in the side and they corrected themselves.

Blaytz’s gaze turned down slightly. The servant seemed a bit…rounder…in the middle. He furrowed his brow a bit. Were they okay? He hoped so.

Trigel, one of the leaders at the table, nudged his leg with hers. “You’re staring again, idiot,” she hissed. The others hadn’t caught on, wrapped up in their own conversation.

“Shove off,” he grumbled. “I can stare if I want to.”

“If Zarkon catches you trying to start something with the servants again, you won’t be the one punished. Do you know how much thread I had to spin to make that web of lies the last time you snuck away with that servant?”

“A web I still appreciate you weaving in the first place,” Blaytz said, smirking. “Besides, if Zarkon doesn’t like me getting together with a servant, then maybe he should remove the classism.”

“You’re going to start a civil war at this rate.” Trigel shook her head, only half-joking.

Blaytz shrugged. Then, he cast his gaze back to the servant. They were shifting on their feet, clearly uncomfortable.

Unable to wait much longer, Blaytz pulled the servant aside after the dinner ended. Making sure no other Galra were watching, he’d gotten them into a closet and promptly rubbed his forehead with theirs.

“Are you ill?” he inquired quietly. “You are not yourself.”

The servant’s crest was a deep purple, a stark contrast to the soft lavender it usually was. “I’m fine, love. Just a bit tired.”

Blaytz hummed, cradling the servant’s head with two hands. “I know it’s been a few phoebs since I last came…and it will possibly be longer still before I see you again.” One of his hands drifted down to gesture at the servant’s roundness. “I just…I want to know that this won’t be the final time I see you. That sickness will not claim you before then.”

The servant tilted their head, then laughed. “Oh, this is completely natural for me! Blaytz, I thought you knew how Galra physiology worked!”

He whispered something into Blaytz’s ear, and the Nalquodian gasped. “You mean…that’s…you’re…?”

The servant nodded, their face practically glowing. “I insisted on working today when I found out it was Daibazaal’s turn to host the alliance dinner. Otherwise, I would be on leave.”

“Does anyone know?”

“Stars, no. None of the higher classes really care, and none of the servants ever asked who the lucky sire is. They know better.”

“I feel like they know a lot more than ‘better,’” Blaytz joked.

“Perhaps, but they would never tell.”

Blaytz kissed the servant. “I leave tomorrow morning. Come with me.”

The servant’s eyes widened at the sudden proposal. “I couldn’t! Lord Zarkon—”

“—would never even notice a single servant was missing from his _hundreds_ that litter the halls.”

“But…” They looked down, rubbing their stomach. “No. I don’t want to risk harming my kit. Traveling right now is too risky.”

Blaytz sighed. “Then…Then I will leave a pod from my ship here. I’ll deploy it remotely after we’ve taken off, it can land in the mountains—somewhere over the horizon, where Zarkon won’t see it. When you feel your kit is ready for travel…take it.”

The servant’s crest flared again. “I’m not worth all that trouble.”

“You were the moment I laid eyes on you.”

They kissed again. Blaytz’s hand hovered over the servant’s stomach. When they broke apart, he said, “I will wait as long as needed, and so will that pod. I can’t wait to see your—_our_ kit. It has every right to be a true citizen as you do, love. And Zarkon can go choke on his classism.”

The servant chuckled softly. “Don’t say such things.”

“I’m allowed to. And one day, you will be, too.”

They stood there, melting in each other’s embrace as long as they could. Then, after a few minutes, they parted. The servant left the closet first, and Blaytz waited a long time before finally exiting.

Just as he said, the next day, when his ship left the atmosphere of Daibazaal, a single pod was discharged. It landed beyond the mountain range near Zarkon’s castle, programmed to return to Nalquod—to Blaytz’s ship—when and _only when_ the royal code was punched into the autopilot. A code Blaytz only disclosed to one being in the entire universe.

* * *

Several phoebs later, the servant gave birth to a beautiful kit with blue fur the color of a lake, their ears and brows looking like someone had dipped them in red paint. Though they had no fur on their ridged, servant class crest, they did have a little wisp of downy hair in the back of their head where the crest ended—something very few Galra of only the higher classes possessed.

To the servant, the kit was perfect.

But the perfection of the kit was overshadowed by a small uprising among the servant class. Though some of the palace staff were attempting to stay out of the revolution, it ultimately swept them all up into a boiling mess. Many were executed, some only because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It took nearly a decaphoeb for the uprising to come to a stand-still, with Zarkon close to relenting and abolishing the class system. By that time, the servant love of Blaytz had nearly gotten killed while hiding away with their kit.

And then, a sad day came. The servant couldn’t risk traveling to the mountains’ edge—not with closed borders and a kill-on-sight rule for all Galra that tried to illegally escape the capitol. Their kit was still too young to understand the phrase ‘quiet’.

And their kit was also still a secret. Only a handful of servants knew of the kit, taking turns during their off-hours to care for them while the servant was working. It was difficult, but until that day, it had worked.

The servant had to work an evening shift, something apparently required for literally every staff member. Apparently, the day had come when Zarkon would announce the end of the servant class. The rumors of equality hung heavy in the air.

But the mandatory attendance meant their kit would be unsupervised no matter where they were. And that was a problem.

That afternoon, the servant snuck out to hide their kit. The best spot they could think of was a small natural alcove near the palace. Their kit was usually quiet; they had faith that the babe could stay that way until that night.

With a final nuzzle on the sleeping kit’s forehead, the servant hummed a lullaby and promised to return soon.

* * *

A varga later, while the servants were gathering inside the castle to prepare for Zarkon’s announcement, a small Galra child was playing near the very alcove in which the kit lay. The child was Sendak, one of Emperor Zarkon’s sons.

“Sendak,” the child’s mother, Zarkon’s favorite concubine, called a few yards away. “Don’t go too far! You still need to put on your ceremonial robes!”

The call was ignored as Sendak went on playing in the dirt. The mother shook her head in amusement.

Suddenly, a soft wail erupted from an alcove just beyond Sendak. The child froze, as did his mother. She urged him to come back to her so she could get a guard, but he chose to approach the alcove as soon as he shook himself out of the shock.

“Sendak!”

After a few tics, her child returned to her, but with something in his hands.

“Mommy, lookit,” Sendak exclaimed. “Issa kit!”

Her instincts instantly flared up. An orphaned kit? She would not let it stand. She immediately took the kit into her arms and inspected it. The crest suggested it was a servant class kit, but its colors were so…un-Galra-like…

“Mommy, can we keep him?” Sendak asked. “Issat my new brother?”

She checked the baby and realized it was indeed a male kit. She considered her son’s question. _Could_ she adopt this kit? He seemed to be an orphan, perhaps abandoned by one of the servants. Why, she had no idea.

With the Emperor about to remove the class system, perhaps he would be safe with the rest of the soon-to-be-former servants?

The kit whimpered in her grasp. Her heart nearly broke.

“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, this is your new brother.”

Zarkon be damned, she decided. This was her baby, whether he liked it or not.

“What’s his name?”

She smiled. “Kolivan.”


	2. O Brother My Brother

“You’re getting faster, Sendak!”

Prince Sendak, a blade pointed at his throat, managed to swallow with dignity. He smirked. “Still not as fast as you, my Emperor.”

Emperor Zarkon returned the smile. “You’ll be a general in no time. Especially at the rate you’re going.” He lowered his sword.

Sendak sighed and relaxed. “Thank you, Father.”

He bowed.

Zarkon laughed, wrapping an arm around Sendak. “So serious. You must be nervous about your assessment, hm?”

Sendak weakly batted his father away. “I don’t get nervous.”

“Then why so formal to me while we’re alone? With only sentries to see our spar session?”

Sendak chuckled. “Perhaps I’ve just grown up from pranking you, Father.”

“That would certainly be the day.”

Sendak smiled, fondly remembering when he would dip his father’s cloak in paint or put ropes at ankle-level in doorways. Of course, he wasn’t the only prince to prank the Court. Nearly every child of Zarkon had a wild streak, Prince Lotor included. Spirits, even Zarkon himself had been a wild child when he was the _Crown Prince_. It ran in the family.

Even adopted children had that streak, too. Sendak’s adopted brother, Kolivan, had been just as wild as he had.

Speaking of Kolivan, Sendak had noticed his brother was not present for this spar with Zarkon.

As if reading his mind, Zarkon chuckled. “You know very well your brother is proud of your strength. He probably doesn’t wish to copy your strategies for the upcoming assessment.”

Sendak cracked a smile. “As if he could handle my ferocious style! He’d rather be quick and sneaky with his twin blades.”

“True enough.” Zarkon turned his gaze towards the setting sun, squinting. “Still, perhaps you should go find him. Dinner will be soon.”

“Won’t be hard. If he’s not sparring, there’s only one place he’d go.”

* * *

Hunched inside the archives deep below the castle keep, amongst scrolls and screens alike, young Prince Kolivan studied. Mostly, he studied histories, written accounts from both sides if available. Knowledge was worth far more to him than gold. Worth as much as combat experience.

Because he was a prince, Kolivan was not allowed to pursue the life of an Archivist. That position was barred from royalty, even bastard or foster royalty, specifically to make sure familial bonds did not overshadow the unbiased recordings. And that, should alliances fall, the archives were not on either side, unblamed and free of punishment.

Still, just because he couldn’t _be_ an Archivist, didn’t mean he couldn’t study whenever he pleased. If he couldn’t record history, he could at least learn from it. That way, when the time came that Sendak inevitably became High Commander of Zarkon’s guard, Kolivan could be the military advisor and strategist. Fighting was one thing. Fighting _smartly_ was another.

In the dim light, Kolivan read of a small uprising from just before he was born: The Servant Revolution that led to the disbanding of the Servant Class altogether.

He absentmindedly touched the ridge on his head. Not long ago, that would have marked him as a servant. He would have either served the table Zarkon ate at, maybe put on the front lines to fight, or even work fields without pay for long hours. His life would have been so different had he been born even a decaphoeb earlier.

Something pulled on his hair braid. He hissed and swiped behind him.

Sendak snickered, dodging the swipe easily. “Playing Archivist again, Kolivan?”

Kolivan growled, “Don’t pull my braid. And I’m not _playing Archivist_. It’s called reading. Perhaps if you did some, you wouldn’t be so thick-headed.”

“My skull is thick because you used to headbutt me all the time.” Sendak knocked his knuckles against his temple. “But I don’t need to read about dusty old Galra histories to fight battles.”

“Perhaps not, but it helps if you want to _win_ them.”

The two brothers squinted at each other, then laughed out loud. They softly headbutted, still chuckling.

“Come on, _Archivist Kolivan_,” Sendak said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Dinner will be ready soon. I think tonight’s gyrlak night.”

“_General Sendak_,” Kolivan countered. “Are you suggesting I tear my nose away from such important studies for mere _gyrlak_?”

Sendak glanced at the scroll on Kolivan’s desk. “The Servant Revolution? Why is that important? No one’s revolting anymore now that the class is disbanded.” He took the scroll and threw it into a pile of other old tomes. “You want some good reads? Try _The Battle at Darister Bluffs_! Now, _that’s_ a battle worth reading about!”

“First of all, I didn’t know you could read. Secondly, isn’t that a kit’s bedtime story?”

Sendak drooped a little. Kolivan laughed again. He stood, clapping his elder brother on the back. “Come on, let’s go eat!”

The two left the archives in good spirits, chuckling and shoving each other playfully. As they walked through the halls up in the keep proper, they passed by older generals, who had served in their father’s army for decaphoebs uncounted.

One of them, a giant of a Galra named Ranveig, sneered and stuck his leg out in front of Kolivan. The young prince tripped and nearly fell had Sendak not grabbed his arm.

“Watch it,” Sendak growled.

“Apologies, Prince Sendak,” Ranveig grumbled loudly. “I didn’t know you cared so much for your servant.”

“Kolivan is a prince, same as me!”

“He’s not a true prince, and as long as he has that servant’s class ridge, he never will be.”

Sendak snarled, but Kolivan dragged him away. “Ignore him, brother.”

“He’s calling you a _servant_!”

“It’s because of my ridge. I can’t change that, but neither can he. No matter what he does, he’ll never get over the fact that I’m always technically higher rank than him.”

“Still say I should’ve punched him…”

* * *

Dinner was gyrlak, as predicted. Because servants were no longer a thing, Zarkon insisted everyone learn to cook so the castle cooks could be paid equally but not worked like slaves all the time. It actually worked; the cooks got every other dinner off, and Zarkon’s large family learned essential skills. There were even times when Zarkon told the cooks to take a whole day off just because he and his allies wanted to get together and have an emissary picnic. (Which usually took some persuasion from the others in the alliance because Zarkon found the picnics to be highly unprofessional)

Nowadays, meals were familial affairs for the royalty. Zarkon was present for as many as he could be, while all of his concubines split the meals equally. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner with Zarkon meant different concubines and different children. It helped remove hostility from the different women and children, especially the ones that didn’t hold as much favor with Zarkon.

That night’s dinner only had three concubines and five children present. The youngest and one of Zarkon’s only _male_ concubines, was Vyliar, with his two toddler kits, Bogh and Lahn. Giyda and her daughter, Gnov, were also present, as were Kolivan and Sendak and their mother Lavrah.

“So,” Zarkon began. “How was everyone’s day?”

Vyliar started first. “Bogh and Lahn are excelling in their studies. Though, if I’m honest, Lahn is a bit more aggressive with their junior governess.”

“I bit her,” the kit declared proudly.

“Yeah, well, I kicked her,” Bogh added.

Kolivan and Sendak snickered, remembering when they, too, began to overpower their junior governess. Sendak had loved pulling her ears, and Kolivan would ambush from below to sweep her legs out from under her.

Zarkon laughed. “Your boys are getting strong! It seems I need to start introducing them to Dayak, if they’re already that rowdy.”

The older children grimaced, remembering the horrors of Dayak’s babysitting. The military had _nothing_ on her.

Bogh and Lahn ate their food, oblivious to the tension shared by the rest of the table.

“_I_ advanced to the next two stages in my sword training,” Gnov crowed suddenly. Her mother tried to admonish her for speaking out of turn, but the young female shoved her away. “When can I start going to officer school like Sendak and Kolivan?”

“Gnov!” her mother hissed.

“It’s alright,” the Emperor said with a wave of his hand. “Gnov, you’re still a few decaphoebs away from your entrance exam, and for good reason. You’re still a child, and children don’t go into battles.”

Gnov exhaled with a great _harrumph_.

Kolivan smiled. “Don’t be in such a hurry to catch up, Sister. Being an officer is hard work, much harder than swinging a wooden sword at some crusty teacher.”

“Speaking of being an officer,” Zarkon interjected. “Are you two ready for your advancement assessment?”

Sendak grinned. “You know I am, Father!”

“And you, Kolivan?”

The young prince nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

“Have you found out who you’re fighting?”

“Not yet,” Kolivan answered. “We won’t know until just before the event.”

“Which is ridiculous,” Sendak complained. “We should know who we’re gonna fight, so we can figure out how to beat them!”

“And are you going to know your opponents every time on the battlefield? Will you know their identities and styles instantly before you’ve even faced them in person?”

Sendak’s large ears drooped. “…No.”

“Exactly.” Zarkon took a drink of his wine. “You boys are close to entering senior officer territory. This is your last junior assessment. You both need to be ready to prove yourselves.”

“Yes, Father,” the brothers said dutifully.

“Now, Kolivan,” Zarkon said. “You seem to be a little on edge right now. You have barely touched your food. Are you sure you aren’t nervous?”

Kolivan furrowed his brow. “No, it’s not nerves. I’m just a little…I’m feeling…I’m not hungry.”

“Sendak.” Zarkon turned to his oldest prince at the table. “What’s wrong with your brother?”

“Why would I know?”

“Because you two are as inseparable as a boy and his yupper.”

Kolivan bristled at the comparison. Sendak growled, glaring at his plate.

Lavrah’s ears pricked at the sight of her sons acting so prickly. “Kolivan, Sendak. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Kolivan said quietly. “Nothing happened.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Sendak hissed.

“Obviously not,” Zarkon deadpanned. “Kolivan, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” the young prince said quickly. “I didn’t do anything!”

“It was Ranveig,” Sendak blurted. “He called Kolivan my servant and didn’t apologize!”

The silence in the room was deafening. Even the kits had stopped shoveling their food to actively listen to the commotion. The concubines began shifting uncomfortably. Zarkon sighed.

“Why?” Gnov asked, breaking the silence. “Why would he say that?”

“Gnov,” her mother hissed.

“It’s because I have this ridge,” Kolivan grumbled. “It used to be a symbol of slavery. Of low status.”

“I gots two ridges,” Lahn declared proudly. “See? One ‘n each side!”

His dam hushed the oblivious kit.

“It’s not the same, Lahn,” Sendak said. “You still got a crest in between them. That means you’re still considered highborn.”

“Neat!”

Zarkon sighed again. “Vyliar, would you mind? This is not a conversation appropriate for kits.”

The male concubine nodded and dragged his boys from the dining hall. Giyda and Gnov were excused as well, though Gnov was promised her own talk on the subject later.

“Kolivan, we’ve been over this,” Zarkon finally stated. “Your ridge does not define you.”

“Neither do my colors,” the prince finished. “I’m not the one you need to convince, you know.”

“You really should do something about Ranveig,” Sendak snarled. “Discharge him, or demote him, or _something_. He shouldn’t be allowed to treat Kolivan like that!”

“Sendak, I can’t demote or discharge people based on their _beliefs_ alone. As outdated as his beliefs are, Ranveig is still a strong Galra and a good asset to the Guard.”

“It’s still wrong!”

“And so is punishing people for _thinking_ differently!”

The shout made Sendak flinch.

“Enough.” Kolivan stood up, startling everyone. “We’ve had this discussion so many times, about so many older Galra treating me the same way! I’m tired of talking about it! Can we just drop it?”

“Kolivan…” Lavrah tried.

“May I please be excused, Father?” Kolivan asked, barely containing his ire.

Zarkon acquiesced. The young prince stormed out of the hall, heading straight to his room. Sendak excused himself as well, rushing after his younger brother.

Lavrah turned to her Emperor. “Zarkon, will you not at least reprimand Ranveig? Kolivan is _still_ a prince, after all.”

“Of course,” he assured her. “Ridge or not, no one has the right to call my son a servant.”

He put a finger to his chin. “Perhaps a suitable punishment would be for him to get put in his place.”

Lavrah tilted her head. “Are you suggesting he be Kolivan’s opponent at the assessment? That could prove _disastrous_! Ranveig is farther up in rank and strength, he could _kill_ Kolivan!”

“Be still. Kolivan is quick and cunning. I have faith he will prevail. A defeat at his hands will most certainly humble Ranveig and _any_ who would still harbor such feelings towards the ridged Galra.”

“If you say so, my Lord. If you say so…”


	3. Fight and Flight

Kolivan paced in the waiting room beyond the arena. He heard the crowd cheering, which meant Sendak was doing very well against his opponent.

Advancement in the King’s Guard—the personal army of the Emperor—was very selective. Not only did one have to get recommended by a senior officer for advancement, there were two assessments to take before promotion: Knowledge and Fighting.

When it came to the knowledge assessment, most officers could pass with average scores. If one wanted to pursue a strategist route, like Kolivan, the scores would need to be extraordinary. Sendak, meanwhile, would only need to squeak by and he’d be set for greatness.

The fighting assessment, however, was Pass-Fail. And if you failed, you were shamed for decaphoebs before you could even _attempt_ to try again.

That wasn’t to say a victory was the only way to advance. It was possible to lose with honor, if the battle impressed literally everyone including the Emperor, or even if a tie occurred, but it was rare. Better to prepare for victory than eke out a defeated promotion.

The crowd roared again. Kolivan inhaled and exhaled slowly. He could do this. He’d aced the knowledge exam, and he’ll ace this, too. Just like last time. And the time before that.

There was a deafening silence. And then, a roar so loud it shook the room. Sendak had passed.

Within dobashes, Sendak walked back into the waiting room, drenched in sweat. He had a few chinks in his armor from sword bashes and swipes, but he didn’t seem hurt. In fact, Sendak looked ready to fight a hundred more foes.

“I got Prorok,” he declared. “The old man is easy once you learn his moves.”

“That doesn’t help me any,” Kolivan said with a chuckle. “For all I know, I could get Raht.”

Sendak scoffed. “As if Raht would be a challenge for you. You’ll do great, Brother!”

They clasped hands, smiling.

“Knock your crusty opponent off his feet,” Sendak encouraged. “I’ll be watching next to Mom.”

They parted ways. Sendak ran down the hall to get into the stands, Kolivan towards the arena entrance. As Kolivan approached the double doors, he could hear Emperor Zarkon addressing the crowd. Kolivan’s recommender had most likely finished his speech and now Zarkon was introducing Kolivan.

The double doors were swung open slowly. The young prince entered the arena, his ears ringing from the cheers greeting him. A huge mass of Galra whooped and hollered, cheering Kolivan on. Some robots were currently cleaning the ground of a few spatters of blood. Kolivan figured it came from Prorok, since Sendak wasn’t that injured.

Speaking of whom, Kolivan glanced around and saw his brother squeezing into the crowd next to their mother. Sendak waved, grinning. Their mother howled encouragements lost in the din.

Zarkon waved his hand and the crowd went silent. Kolivan took a knee, bowing his head.

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Kolivan,” Zarkon began, “you are here for your advancement assessment. To advance to the next rank, you must either win against your opponent or impress me or your fellow Galra. Are you prepared?”

“I am, my Emperor,” Kolivan answered.

“Then, face your opponent!”

Kolivan stood and turned around. The crowd roared again as his opponent entered the arena. Kolivan wanted to puke.

His opponent was Ranveig…

“Commander Ranveig, are you prepared?”

The giant Galra sneered, clearly not happy with the arrangement, but he nodded all the same. “I am, my Emperor!”

“Fighters, at the ready!”

Ranveig held up one of his large Kama. Kolivan drew his double blades.

“Fight!”

Ranveig charged, swinging his Kama wildly. Kolivan dodged, rolling away as the larger Galra slammed his weapon into the ground. Getting hit by that would mean substantial damage, and by the way Ranveig was tramping around, Kolivan figured he would die if he lost this battle.

“Come here, you sorry excuse for a Galra!” Ranveig roared. “It’s time someone shoved you into your _proper_ place: face scraping the floor and kissing my boots!”

Kolivan sliced at his back with one of his blades, barely blocking the Kama aimed for his chest. Kolivan’s blade did little to the armor, so he had to think of an alternate way to defeat Ranveig. If brute force wouldn’t fell the beast, perhaps superior agility would.

Kolivan’s smaller size gave him a much faster edge, and he used it to his advantage. He dodged and weaved, narrowly avoiding Ranveig’s Kama more times than he would have liked. Something smelled odd, something in the air, but the battle was moving too fast for Kolivan to stop and figure out what it was.

Twice he’d knocked Ranveig to his knees, but the huge Galra commander was much hardier than he’d anticipated and had managed to rise both times. The crowd cheered and whooped at each swing, each miss, each fell.

Kolivan prepared to sweep Ranveig’s legs again, but the commander wheeled on one foot and swiped down instead of to the side. His blade sliced the left side of Kolivan’s face, causing him to backpedal and stumble away from his attacker.

Instinctively, he dropped one of his blades and reached up to put pressure on his eye, hoping the Kama hadn’t blinded that eye permanently.

The crowd went wild.

Ranveig kicked Kolivan in the abdomen, sending him flying. The crowd hissed in sympathy.

“Stay down, _servant class_,” the commander growled. “You will _never_ hold a position higher than that of a _butler_. I will make sure of that.”

Kolivan spit out blood as he tried to rise. The wound on his face stung. He blinked rapidly, trying to wipe the blood away so he could see. And he _could_ see out of that eye, thankfully. What he saw, however, were the shocked faces of the other Galra, the anger on Sendak’s face, and his parents’ disappointment. He gulped hard. His father had taken him in, raised him to be something greater than what his ridge suggested. He was meant to succeed.

And yet he was failing. If he couldn’t defeat Ranveig here, he would be shamed. He wouldn’t be able to join Sendak in battles, much less look any of his family members in their faces. He would be a social outcast, worthy only enough to be cannon fodder, if that.

He couldn’t let that happen. He _couldn’t_ let this classist asshole win.

A deep rage boiled within him. It was a sudden, piercing anger that made Kolivan’s vision turn red. His heartrate accelerated, his fur bristled, his face twisted into an animalistic snarl. All possibly civilized thoughts vanished from his mind, replaced with only _Fight, Attack, Kill._

* * *

Something was wrong. Emperor Zarkon watched as Kolivan, his _son_, began to bristle and snarl in the arena below. He would expect a reaction like that from Sendak—especially aimed at Ranveig—but not Kolivan. His foster son always tried to keep cool in combat, even when wounded; a rare trait in young Galra, and rarer still amongst the royalty. If one were to be asked what Kolivan’s attitude during combat was like, they would say like a serpent; silent, quick, and potentially deadly.

But now?

Now, there was no silent snake fighting Ranveig. It was an entirely different Galra down there, baring his fangs and causing every member in the audience to grow concerned. From his higher position, Zarkon couldn’t see much of the wound Ranveig had inflicted upon Kolivan, but he figured it must have been extremely painful to cause his son to react in such a way.

Suddenly, Kolivan burst forward, grabbing his fallen sword. He swung quickly and violently, throwing all caution to the wind. Ranveig went on the defensive, attempting to run away instead of blocking. His expression was of fearful surprise.

“Father, something’s wrong,” Sendak called, echoing the Emperor’s own concerns.

Mutters and whispers flew through the arena. Everyone had various degrees of horror etched on their faces. Fights to the death were not illegal—the Emperor himself had a phoebe set aside every ten decaphoebs for challengers to the throne. Usually, those challenges didn’t happen, since they were required to be to the death, and no one wanted to risk _that_ much for the throne. Heirs were groomed for that eventual fight. Zarkon had killed his predecessor—his father—for the throne because he had been ready to take over, and his father knew the Empire would be in good hands.

But this was not a Royal Challenge. This was supposed to be a mere exam, where deaths were _very_, _very_ rare. The fight no longer was about advancement; Zarkon could see Kolivan meant to kill Ranveig.

Zarkon considered stopping the fight, but that would shame everyone involved, including him.

Kolivan let out a guttural roar and jumped up onto Ranveig’s shoulders, ramming his blades down into the cracks of the older officer’s armor. Ranveig screamed and jerked violently to throw Kolivan off. The young prince hit the ground hard, not bothering to roll like he’d been taught. He remained unmoving where he’d fallen, breathing erratically. Ranveig fell to his knees, still screaming.

No cheers or applause came from the crowd. Everyone sat in stunned silence.

Zarkon stood up. “Ranveig, do you yield?”

The officer shoved his Kama into the ground. “I yield! I yield!”

A few hesitant claps echoed through the arena, but they soon died. Sendak pushed people out of the way, soaring down the stands.

“Kolivan,” he called, jumping to the ground floor. “Kolivan! Are you okay?”

A few medics rushed towards Ranveig, who roared when the blades were pulled from his body. They stuck him with a sedative and he immediately went limp. As the medics struggled to get the huge Galra onto a gurney, Sendak reached Kolivan.

“Kolivan,” Sendak shouted above the murmurs in the crowd. “Kolivan, talk to me.”

If Zarkon had blinked, he would have missed what happened next. In a flash, Kolivan had swiped his claws at Sendak, catching his brother’s eye. Sendak screeched and fell back, clutching his face.

Kolivan snarled barbarically, ready to pounce on Sendak and kill him, no doubt. He was not a prince in that instance—he wasn’t even a Galra. He was merely an animal.

Someone in the arena screamed in horror. More erupted from the stands. Zarkon stood in shock at what his foster son had done, as did their mother.

Suddenly, it was like a switch had flipped inside the young prince’s mind. His face melted from rage into terror. His fur no longer bristled, it _fluffed_ in fear. He looked at Sendak, then down at his blood-soaked claws, then back at Sendak. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he watched his brother flail around in agony.

Zarkon finally snapped back into awareness. The crowds were panicking. Both his sons were hurt, one of them near insanity. He needed to do damage control.

“Silence,” he roared above the growing din. “Everyone, stay calm!”

The Galra citizens settled down, some sitting down the instant Zarkon had yelled. Others remained standing but faced their emperor with questioning looks. The majority, however, had their gazes locked onto Kolivan, who had begun to slowly back away from Sendak.

Guards began to move in, intending to take Kolivan into custody. It was standard procedure, something that they prepared for, since not all royal sons and daughters got along with each other. Straight murder outside of a death match was completely illegal, and punishable by either death or severe confinement.

Kolivan seemed to realize exactly what he’d tried to do, realized the intent of the guards closing in. His eyes widened.

And just like that, Prince Kolivan fled the arena.

He bounded over Sendak and weaved through the guards trying to catch him. The crowds panicked again. Zarkon attempted to quiet them down, with minimal success, as he made his way towards the ground floor. He saw Kolivan push through stunned guards and disappear down the hall beyond them, a few Sentries on his heels.

Medics were rushing to Sendak’s quivering form, trying to calm the prince as they looked him over. Zarkon was halfway across the arena floor when Sendak’s fur bristled and his ears went flat over his skull. He shot into a standing position, throwing multiple medics to the ground and snarling.

Zarkon hesitated only a moment before charging and tackling his son. “Sendak,” he growled. “Calm yourself! What has gotten into you?”

Sendak’s good eye resembled something more akin to a wild beast’s, wide and devoid of sense. His other eye—his left eye—was mangled, and Zarkon saw the actual eyeball was sliced through, same as his lids and part of his brow. Kolivan had done severe damage with only his claws. Had it been on an enemy and not Sendak, Zarkon would have been so proud.

But he didn’t have time to take stock of Sendak’s eye injury just yet. His son was still writhing beneath him, yowling and…

“AH!” Zarkon reared back, jerking his hand away. Sendak had _bitten_ him and drawn blood!

Zarkon slammed Sendak’s head into the ground repeatedly. After a few knocks, the young prince’s eyes rolled back, and he laid still. Breathing heavily, Zarkon stood. Medics rushed over, quickly bandaging his hand.

“What happened to my sons?” Zarkon demanded. “Someone answer me this instant!”

Commander Prorok stepped into the arena, kneeling next to Ranveig’s Kama. He pulled the weapon out of the ground and sniffed the blade. His ears perked up.

“My Lord,” he said. “This blade has been _poisoned!_”

“What!?”

Prorok handled the curved blade with care as he gave it to a Sentry. “It’s Virlak Venom.”

Zarkon swore under his breath. Virlak Venom was a tricky substance. On the one hand, it could be ingested to help hormonal imbalances, especially in teens. On the other, if it entered the bloodstream, it would cause a Galra to enter into fight _then_ flight responses. No matter what the usual response was for an individual, the result was always the same.

The infected would first fight whatever infected them and anything around them, as a trapped animal would, then minutes later would switch to a flight response and run as far as they could before collapsing. The body would then begin to fail, a process that took about 12 hours. If a medic got to them within the first four hours, the infected could be saved, but recovery was excruciating and lasted far longer than it would take to die from the venom.

And, Zarkon realized with a jolt, Kolivan had been infected when he’d been cut. And when he grabbed his face, his claws had been covered with excess venom that he had then swiped Sendak with, inadvertently infecting Sendak in the process. That meant both princes required _immediate_ medical attention.

Sendak would have no issues getting the attention required. Kolivan, however…

“Send out a rescue party,” Zarkon ordered. “Find Prince Kolivan. He’s been infected with Virlak Venom and requires medical attention _now_!”

He then took the Kama from the Sentry and snarled, “And someone put Ranveig in a cell as soon as he wakes up. He had better have a good reason for attempting to _assassinate_ my sons!”


	4. Awakenings

Sendak awoke to the hissing sound of a pod. Without opening his eyes, he stumbled forward. An arm caught him before he fell.

“Careful, my prince,” someone muttered. “Your body is still a little weak from—”

“Get off me,” he growled. He shoved whoever was near him back. “Where…?”

“You’re in the med bay, boy, now sit still.”

Zarkon. That was Zarkon’s voice. Sendak obeyed and sat down. Finally, he opened his eyes and…

…saw nothing.

“F-Father,” he stammered, voice rising. “Am I blind?”

“Be still, Sendak,” Zarkon ordered. “There are bandages wrapping your head. The medics will attend to them shortly, but you have to sit still!”

At once, hands began unwrapping the line of aforementioned bandages. Sendak grumbled but held still long enough. Eventually, he could see light. The bandages were removed over one eye, but he still couldn’t see out of the other.

When none of the medics went to remove the coverings of his other eye, he protested, “Hey, I still need someone to take off the rest of them.”

No one moved. Sendak looked to his father, whose face was solemn.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong? Do I need another round in the pod?”

Finally, Zarkon spoke. His voice was grave. “Sendak, your eye isn’t bandaged anymore. Kolivan ripped it to shreds, so the medics removed it before putting you in a pod.”

Sendak briefly remembered being struck, but everything after that was…a blur, at best. He could remember flashes of red, his father’s concerned face, Kolivan’s terror…

He reached up to touch his empty socket. It felt odd and bare and sore. The fur around it was shaved, but he could still feel a ragged scar that stretched up and down the socket.

“Where’s Kolivan,” he asked quietly.

“Now, son,” Zarkon said. “I know Kolivan did this, but don’t be angry at—”

“Something was wrong with him,” Sendak insisted. “I’m not mad, I just want to know if he’s okay!”

Sendak stood up, trying to ignore the nausea accompanying his new lack of an eye. Medics rushed to him, but he shoved them aside. Scanning the room, he noticed none of the other pods held his brother.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

Ignoring the tone his son probably shouldn’t have taken with him, Zarkon answered, “We don’t know. He managed to escape into the city, but no one has seen him since.”

“What happened to him?”

“Virlak Venom. Ranveig’s weapon was laced with it, and Kolivan got infected. You were too, when he sliced you with his claws.”

Sendak abruptly sat down. “No,” he whispered. “How long has it been? Since he…since I…since the fight?”

After a few moments, Zarkon looked away. “Forty vargas.”

Dread sank in Sendak’s stomach like a stone. 40 hours? If Kolivan wasn’t found by now, he was most certainly…

“But no one’s found him?” Sendak inquired. “Even if he’s…Even if he’s dead, _someone_ must have found his body!”

Zarkon nodded. “The guards are still out looking. Sentries are scanning every home. We’ll find him.”

Sendak rose again. “Someone get me my clothes. I’m going to help search.”

“Prince Sendak, you mustn’t,” one of the medics protested. “You’re still weak from the venom!”

“Quiznak on the venom,” he spat. “My brother is still out there!” He began to walk towards the door. “And I’ll be damned if I can’t find him!”

He left the med bay before anyone, even Zarkon, could protest further.

* * *

Kolivan was floating on a river.

He didn’t exactly remember how he’d gotten there, or even which river it was. He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten unclothed, but he was. He barely remembered anything beyond just floating there on his back as the current drifted him away.

If he looked to one bank, he could see Daibazaal flowers and even the red moon. Mostly, though, it looked bleak and semi-barren, devoid of any sort of wildlife. Even the stars near the moon seemed dull.

If he looked to the other bank, though, he could see much more. Insects and animals not native to Daibazaal fluttered and grazed near the water. A few suns floated impossibly in the sky beyond, giving color and life to the area. Kolivan liked that side. Though it was an unfamiliar sight, it soothed him, made him feel…welcome.

Fish swam up and downstream, nibbling at Kolivan’s bare legs. Some weaved through his loose, unbraided hair or tickled his ears. He giggled at the sensation.

_“Kolivan.”_

He blinked slowly. Was someone calling him?

The coolness of the water did nothing to relieve the heat beginning to overtake his body. He felt like he was boiling inside. Perhaps he was just overheating due to the suns over there?

_“Kolivan.”_

Kolivan closed his eyes. Visions of a blurry face swam before him. He couldn’t exactly make them out, but he swore they were Galra. The yellow eyes, the purple skin, the butterfly ears; had to be a Galra.

But his body boiled more when he closed his eyes, so he opened them again. To cool off a little bit. To see the lovely scenery on either side of him. To forget…something.

The semi-barren darkness of the first bank began to bleed into the second. The flora bled violet and red, the suns set, and the animals either fled or disappeared. Yet Kolivan drifted on, unconcerned.

The fish began to whisper things into his ears. _“Servant_,” they said. _“Animal. You don’t belong.”_

Kolivan felt the water grow choppier as the whispers grew darker.

_“Savage.”_

_“Beast.”_

_“Halfling.”_

_“You don’t belong.”_

_“You don’t belong.”_

_“You are pathetic.”_

_“Weak.”_

_“You don’t belong.”_

Kolivan thrashed, feeling like his limbs were becoming lead. No longer floating, he desperately tried to swim for shore. The once-welcoming shore of unknown life had become a scary Galran sight of blood and violence. Kolivan screeched, seeing visions of himself—wild and savage—hunting and killing random animals and citizens. His brother, dead at his feet. Zarkon pulling out his sword for a death match.

_“You don’t belong.”_

Kolivan sank, his limbs freezing up. The water was unbearably hot, and he couldn’t breathe. The fish and their terrible voices taunted him further. They barraged him until he wanted to bash his head against a rock.

_“Slave.”_

_“Beast.”_

_You don’t belong.”_

_“Mongrel.”_

_“You don’t belong.”_

_“YOU DON’T BELONG!”_

_“Kolivan!”_

_“Servant.”_

_“Please wake up!”_

_“Savage.”_

_“WAKE UP!”_

Kolivan’s eyes shot open, though he didn’t remember exactly closing them in the first place. He struggled to catch his breath, frozen in terror. His fur was drenched in sweat. His limbs were so tense they shook with strain, unable to move.

Someone was leaning over him, holding his shoulders. Kolivan tried to focus on them, blinking away the nightmare. His muscles loosened up, his breaths came easier, and finally he went limp. As he sank back into a pillow, he finally made out the Galra in front of him.

It was a small Galra, no one particularly out of the ordinary in looks. Definitely a male. Butterfly ears, a ridge instead of a crest, some darker markings here and there. He looked worried.

“Prince Kolivan?” the male inquired. “Are you with me?”

Kolivan swallowed a lump in his throat. “Y-Yes…I…Where…?” He tried to get up but was pushed back down.

“Don’t move so much,” the Galra ordered softly. “Your fever seems to have broken, but you’re still very weak.”

Fever?

Kolivan blinked, trying to remember what had happened before the river. Had that been a dream or memory? The more he tried to think about it, the more it faded away.

He glanced around, vision swimming. It appeared he was in a small shack, decorated with baubles and jewelry that looked like none Kolivan had ever seen. At least, none he could remember clearly. Aquariums and water décor lined the walls above Galran furniture, silk linens covered the windows, and hanging from the ceiling were round lights that glowed from bioluminescent fish instead of the standard plasma lights.

Kolivan furrowed his brow. “Where…am I?”

“In my home,” the older Galra answered. “You had run right to my doorstep in your delirium.”

“What happened…to me?”

“You were infected with Virlak Venom,” he explained. “Had you run further than my home, you might not have gotten any timely help.”

Kolivan sighed and sank into his pillow. It smelled like the sanvila berries that grew in the palace gardens. He knew of Virlak Venom, even used it a couple times as an adolescent due to some odd hormonal imbalances. He’d never been on the receiving end of the negative effects, though. It sure explained his sudden rage and blackout soon after at the assessment.

“Who are you?” he questioned after a minute of catching his ragged breath.

The Galra smiled softly. “I am Marmora. Would you like some soup?”

Kolivan shook his head. He didn’t think anything would ease his shifting stomach.

Marmora nodded and brushed aside a stray hair from Kolivan’s shoulder. Then, he softly patted him on the head like Kolivan was a kit. Kolivan didn’t mind; the gesture kind of soothed him, if he was being honest.

“Rest easy, my…my Prince,” Marmora said quietly. “You’re past the worst of it. Now all you need do is sleep.”

“What about my brother? Wouldn’t my father be looking for me?”

“No doubt about it. But, you must understand: my home is on the outskirts of the capitol sector. Beyond is the Bordein Mountains. If they are searching for you, mine is the last place they will look. We are so far away that a medical pod would be too far for your weakened form to reach. I knew enough of the healing sciences to make sure you survived the effects of the venom.”

What he said made sense, so Kolivan didn’t protest. Instead, he said, “Can you inform someone I’m here?”

Marmora’s smile returned. “I contacted a couple friends. They should be able to reach a search party shortly.”

* * *

Sendak was on the verge of panic. None of the houses or buildings in the capitol city held Kolivan. No one had checked him into the hospitals. Even the sewers and deadbeat alleyways were bare.

It was like his brother had vanished off of the face of Daibazaal itself.

Sendak roared an punched a wall, nearly missing a Sentry in the process. His hand ached from the impact, but he didn’t care. He needed to vent. If he couldn’t find his brother…

_“Prince Sendak,”_ one of the Sentries notified. _“Readings indicate high heartrate and adrenaline. Body energy is low and near critical. Advising immediate rest.”_

Sendak snarled, “I’ll rest when my brother is found! Keep searching and don’t worry about me!”

_“Emperor Zarkon has ordered to the contrary,” _the Sentry beeped. _“Should Prince Sendak relapse, we are to return him to the Palace immediately by whatever means necessary.”_

Sendak swore under his breath and kept marching on. He was nearing the final street before the farmlands beyond. If Kolivan had even gotten that far, he might not have found help in time.

“Excuse me. Prince Sendak?”

Sendak whirled around, trying to spot the owner of the small voice that had addressed him. They had spoken on his new blind side, which had startled him more than he would care to admit aloud. Finally, his one-eyed gaze landed on a small child, not much older than Gnov.

The child had lilac skin with white markings going down either side of the crown of his head. The markings looked like ripples surrounding his fuzzy white crest. He also had a very pale face. His ears were a bit on the long side, though Sendak knew the child would soon grow into them. He was dressed in dirty and worn commoner’s garb.

“Speak, kit,” he commanded.

The child puffed up, clearly offended. “First of all, I’m not a kit. Second, I have info on Prince Kolivan.”

Sendak grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. “Where is my brother?” he demanded.

“Cool it,” the child growled. “He’s alive. Put me down, you big cyclops!”

“Maybe speak to me with respect, _kit_,” Sendak snarled. “Where is he?”

“Put me down and I’ll show you!”

Sendak put the child down and faced the Sentries. “Go to Emperor Zarkon and report that we’ve found Kolivan. That’s an order.”

The Sentries obeyed without protest.

Sendak turned to the child again. “Take me to Kolivan.”

The child nodded and started running towards the farmlands. Only once did he look over his shoulder to address Sendak and say, “By the way, my name’s Ulaz. Try and remember it, Prince Cyclops.”


	5. When the Water Burns

Of all places Sendak had expected Kolivan to run to, a small shack at the edge of the capitol sector was the last he’d ever think of.

‘Shack’ was a term loosely used. Sendak didn’t exactly know what else to call it; it was a small home with solar panels on the roof, dark, curtain-drawn windows, peeling paint, and auto-irrigated gardens surrounding the property. A few little ponds dotted the gardens, filled with exotic fish and lily pads. It was kind of quaint, if a little on the small side.

Ulaz went up to the door and rapped out a rhythm. A soft voice called out from inside, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” the kit responded. “And I brought Prince Cyclops.”

“Sendak,” he corrected. Just thinking about his missing eye made the socket throb. He didn’t need a nickname to go with it.

The door opened slowly, and only a little bit. It was enough for an older Galra to pop his head out. Sendak immediately recognized the ridge on his head and knew this had been a former servant. Of course he would be suspicious of royalty.

The Galra smiled when he laid eyes on the kit. “Ulaz,” he cooed softly. “Thank you for bringing the prince.” His mouth then set into a thin line. “But you should show respect to him, no matter what. He’s a prince, and a good one at that.”

Ulaz scoffed but didn’t turn away when the Galra patted him on the head. He leaned into the touch, letting his hair fluff get pet.

Finally, the Galra rested his gentle gaze on Sendak. “My Prince,” he said with a bow of his head. “My name is Marmora. Please, do come inside. Kolivan is resting.”

Sendak resisted the urge to bust down the door. Marmora led him and Ulaz inside, then closed the door behind them, locking it. Sendak noticed the baubles and trinkets littering the place and said, “What’s all this?”

Marmora let one of the glowing fish lights brush against an outstretched hand. “I…I like aquatic surroundings. Anything sort of fish-like gives me peace.”

Sendak chuckled. “You should visit Nalquod,” he said off-handedly. “They’re all about fish stuff there.”

“I hope to go one day,” Marmora sighed. “Have you been?”

“When Kolivan and I were little, we went with Dad on vacation there. Lotta water, lotta wet. My fur didn’t exactly agree with it. Kolivan liked it, though.”

Marmora’s smile grew, though Sendak couldn’t imagine why.

“So,” Sendak drawled, “where is Kolivan? Ulaz said he’d be here.”

Marmora led Sendak to a darker corner of the cabin, which was lined with more linens than the rest. Like a tented nest. Pulling back a hanging curtain at Marmora’s nod, Sendak finally saw his brother.

Kolivan was resting on a mound of pillows and covered in beautiful handmade quilts. His fur was drenched in sweat or maybe cold water, Sendak wasn’t sure. His face was tight with discomfort and he looked very thin. Sendak thought back to how long Zarkon had said he’d been in the pod. Forty vargas; that meant Kolivan had not eaten for at least two days.

A ragged scar lined half of his face from his brow right over his left eye and down to his chin, mirroring Sendak’s but looking like a far cleaner cut. He surmised Kolivan probably hadn’t lost his eye like Sendak had.

He bent down and placed a hand gently on his brother’s bare shoulder. “Kolivan,” he muttered. “Kolivan, please wake up.”

Kolivan’s breathing was rattled, but strong. After a few moments, he opened his bleary eyes. “Sss…Sendak?”

Sendak broke into a grin. “Yeah. Hey, little bro.”

Kolivan smiled, though it left as soon as it came. His brows furrowed. “Your…eye?”

“Fell on a rake.”

His brother finally laughed. It was a wheeze more than anything, but it still counted. Then, after a moment, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sendak insisted. “We both got infected with venom. I probably would have done something really bad if Dad hadn’t slammed me into unconsciousness.”

Kolivan still looked away, clearly ashamed. Sendak rubbed his knuckles against his brother’s head lovingly. He stuck his tongue out. “How about this? When you get better I can finish the job on your eye, deal?”

Kolivan smiled.

Marmora came up behind Sendak and offered Kolivan some soup. The young Galra sat up a bit to eat, though it was slow going. Marmora was patient, always smiling and speaking softly with Kolivan. Sendak moved out of the way to inspect more of the shack itself.

His hand grazed across the surface of one of the many shelves. It was as if water had been frozen—not in ice, but in time—and shaped into a shelf. Even the foam was caught in the crests of the still waves.

Ulaz—who was still there for some reason—began to juggle some of the trinkets: colorful balls with different types of fish etched around the surface. “So, why’s your brother blue?” Ulaz asked randomly. “Is he a half-breed?”

Sendak snorted. “Half-breed? Hardly. Kolivan just has some pigmentation deficiency. It happens sometimes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the doctors said so. The red on his head is proof that the usual purple genes are there, but got separated into basic red and blue. Kind of like if he were albino, only this is rarer.”

Marmora had tilted his head to listen but didn’t add anything. His ears twitched, like he’d wanted to flatten them if they had been like Sendak’s or Kolivan’s.

Sendak continued, “Plus, who cares? He’s still a Galra, regardless of his colors.”

Ulaz stopped juggling. His eyes were dark as he set down the balls. “Wish my family would think like that,” he muttered. “They see my light colors and call me bad names.”

Sendak hadn’t realized Marmora wasn’t Ulaz’s parent. The knowledge surprised him for some reason.

“You learn…to ignore them,” rasped Kolivan from his corner. He was lying down again, but his bowl was empty. “There are always…those who hate you…for being different.”

“It shouldn’t be that way,” Ulaz grumbled.

“No, it shouldn’t,” Sendak said pointedly. “Our father is doing as much as he can to change all these xenophobic thoughts.”

Marmora finally spoke, “You won’t be able to change everyone’s opinions overnight. But I do believe we are on the right path. Our emperor is doing a great job of it.”

“I just wish I could deck Ranveig every time he calls you a _servant_,” Sendak growled.

“You can deck him…later,” Kolivan said. “After I slice…his kneecaps…off.”

Marmora clapped his hands. “Alright, that’s enough of that. This is too much excitement for you, Kolivan.” He grabbed the bowl from the prince’s hands, waggling his finger like their mother would when they were kits. “Go back to sleep. Your brother will be here when you wake.”

Kolivan chuckled but didn’t protest when Marmora closed the linen curtains.

Sendak sat down on a couch as Marmora fixed some tea. “Why can’t we move Kolivan to a hospital?”

“Too far,” Ulaz answered. He had gone back to juggling the little balls. “He’s too weak, duh.”

“Be respectful,” Marmora admonished from his position at the stove. Facing Sendak, he said, “He is right, of course. Any sort of main hospital would be too far on foot. Even a hovercraft or pod would be risky. It’s best to let Kolivan ride out his recovery than risk making him relapse.”

Sendak nodded. “How long until he’s strong enough to travel?”

“About 12 Vargas more,” came the reply. “Enough time for both Princes to get some much-needed rest.”

Sendak glanced outside. The sun was beginning to set. It would be completely dark by the time Sendak even got near the palace on foot. He brought out his data pad and typed in a message to his Sentry squad: _I’m safe, Kolivan is recovering the slow way. On the outskirts. Be back tomorrow_.

As he pressed Send, a cup of hot tea was offered to him. He accepted it after putting the pad away, returning Marmora’s smile with one of his own. The tea tasted delicious; it was some sort of foreign mixture he couldn’t identify.

“Filinacht and selis leaves,” the older Galra said suddenly, as if reading his mind. “Helps to calm nerves and prevent nightmares if taken before bed. It’s a common herbal tea on Nalquod.”

“I thought you said you’d never been there,” Sendak inquired with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Correct, but I also said I would love to go. One can love a culture without ever having visited a planet.”

“He’s got a pod waiting and everything for him,” Ulaz blurted. “Dunno why he doesn’t just go already.”

Marmora froze. Sendak looked to the kit in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Ulaz grinned. “There’s a Nalquodian pod not far from here. Everyone around here knows it’s for Marmora ‘cuz he’s got a Nalquodian _loooover_. One day he’s gonna use it and never come back.”

“Ulaz,” the older Galra yelped. “Watch your tongue!”

“But it’s true!” The kit gestured to the shack as a whole. “Where do you think all this Nalquodian stuff came from? Plus, you used to get letters _all the time_, according to my uncle. And someone said once you might have had a—”

“That’s enough,” Marmora snapped. “Go home.”

“But—”

“Home.”

Ulaz’s ears drooped. He kicked the corner of Marmora’s rug before tromping out of the shack. He slammed the door. A grunt echoed from behind the linen curtain, but Kolivan didn’t try to peek out and rejoin the conversation.

“A little harsh,” Sendak noted. “There’s no shame in wanting to go to Nalquod.”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Marmora said pointedly. “I don’t know how he found out about that blasted pod, but—”

“So it is real?”

Marmora clammed up.

Sendak chuckled. “Hey, I don’t care what you’re doing with aliens. Ever since Dad made the alliance, you’re pretty much set to love whoever you want.”

“There are many who would not see it that way.”

“Then why don’t you leave?”

“I…” Marmora looked away. His eyes gave away nothing but anguish. “I wish I could.”

Sendak squirmed in his seat, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “Did your loved one perish? Did someone threaten you?”

“Oh, no, my love is still alive as far as I’m aware. And he has been very patient with waiting for me. It’s just…” His eyes flicked off to the side but came back before Sendak could guess where he’d looked. “I cannot leave yet. Not without my…my kit.”

Sendak took another sip from his lukewarm tea. “Ulaz?”

Marmora shook his head. “Ulaz is not mine, though at times it feels like he is. No, my son is pretty much grown at this point. Though, he doesn’t know he’s mine.”

“Is he…half Nalquodian?” Sendak actually had to think about how that would work. He imagined a Galra with fins and gills, maybe with sleek fur that water just slid right off of.

“Yes. Though, I’m sure he’s not even aware of that. You see…I lost him when he was a baby. Someone had taken him in when I wasn’t around, and I just never had the courage to step up and reclaim him. I figured he might have a better life than I ever could have given him…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sendak said softly. “Does he know you at all?”

“He’s met me,” Marmora said after a silent moment.

“Maybe I could help introduce him,” Sendak said. “After all, anyone with a Prince’s recommendation must be worth meeting, yeah?”

Marmora didn’t answer. Instead, he left the conversation unfinished and made up a makeshift bed for Sendak near Kolivan’s nest. No plans for a meal were made, and Sendak didn’t push his luck. Whatever had set Marmora off had placed the older Galra into a state of permanent silence.

* * *

Hours later, Kolivan awoke to a feeling of dread.

He still felt weak, but after nearly a day of rest once his fever broke, his strength was returning. He sat up with a little effort, no longer feeling shaky. Taking that as a good sign, he pulled back the curtain.

Sendak’s sleeping face greeted him. His brother snored softly, curled up in a nest of blankets similar to Kolivan’s. His empty eye socket was still bald, with an angry scar that was in direct opposition to the soft sleeping face.

No matter how much Sendak would say it wasn’t a big deal, Kolivan still felt guilty over ripping his brother’s eye out. As it was, his own eye had lost some vision, but it was still not an equal wound to Sendak’s. He reached up and traced the scar going down his face. Cleaner, made from a blade and not wildly flailing claws.

That feeling of dread that had awoken him still nagged in his mind. He glanced around. The shack was quiet, the bioluminescent fish swimming lazily in their spheres, curtains flowing gently next to open windows, Marmora sleeping soundly on an actual bed in a far corner.

Kolivan disentangled himself from his sheets and blankets. Somehow, he managed to get out of his soft corner without disturbing Sendak and crossed over to one of the open windows.

The cool morning air soothed him as it blew inside. He looked out, seeing a quaint little pond just beyond the garden. Aquatic birds floated on the waters, asleep. As he should be.

He took a deep breath. The morning air was damp, almost wet like the pond nearby, but not humid. There was something about it that made him feel…welcome.

He’d heard Marmora and Sendak speaking about Nalquod. Though pained and weak, he’d still heard it. Sendak had casually mentioned Kolivan had liked the planet. It had been an understatement to say he ‘liked Nalquod.’ His own memories of the place were excited and dreamy. When they played in one of the many pools of Blaytz’s royal palace, it was as if Kolivan could stay there forever. The water was so inviting and beautiful, and had he been older, he could have opted to stay in and not follow his mother around.

Even Blaytz, he remembered, had remarked that Kolivan had a natural affinity to water, even took to it like a Nalquodian pup. Zarkon had laughed, saying some Galra kits take to it better than others and nodding to poor Sendak, who had absolutely hated the experience.

Marmora’s home felt just like Nalquod had; inviting and safe. As if he belonged there…

He shook his head. No, he didn’t belong here. It was a peasant’s shack out in the middle of nowhere, and he was still a bit delirious. He closed the window, suddenly feeling sick of the wet morning air.

But as soon as he closed the window and stepped away, a laser blast shot through the glass, shattering it and hitting several trinkets through the shack. Kolivan had barely escaped the blast by the skin of his teeth, dodging to the side on sheer instinct.

Sendak and Marmora startled awake, the former pulling out his sword instantly. “What’s going on?” Sendak demanded.

Marmora reached under his bed, pulling out his own curved blade. It reminded Kolivan of his preferred weapon, but this dao was much more Nalquodian, just like the rest of the older Galra’s belongings. Another gift from his supposed Nalquodian lover, no doubt.

“I don’t know,” Marmora said, his voice quivering. “Prince Kolivan, please get down! You aren’t safe!”

Kolivan took cover as more laser blasts were fired through the wall, piercing everything in their path. The bioluminescent fish lights were shattered, and the fish hurtled to the ground with wet flops, gasping once before dying in the subsequent rubble rain. Kolivan caught one mid-fall, unsure of what to do with it beyond finding a random bowl—with another fish already inside, looking very alarmed—and dropping it in. He cradled the fishbowl, hoping the pressure wouldn’t break it as more and more lasers fired into the shack.

A rancid smell hit Kolivan’s nose: fire. The shack was catching fire!

The trinkets and knick-knacks that resembled water-based things were ironically set ablaze. The flames raced up the delicate curtains and linens, entrapping Kolivan’s recovery nest.

Marmora dove for a small chest near his bed as the area became heated. He grabbed a few small items, which Kolivan couldn’t identify.

Sendak sprinted towards the front door. He made Kolivan stand and run with him, even when the younger brother couldn’t catch his breath properly. He kicked it open, dragging Kolivan outside.

Kolivan hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him as Sendak landed nearby. The fish were jostled in their bowl but were unharmed.

The sound of plasma guns reloading made both princes look up. Two Sentries had locked their guns onto them, cold and immobile. Sendak snarled, “What is the meaning of this?”

Heavy footsteps thundered slowly towards them. Coming in from the side was Ranveig, stripped of armor but armed with another plasma gun. A gun specifically aimed at Kolivan.

“Apologies, _my Prince_,” Ranveig sneered at Sendak. “But I think it’s time we end this farce.”

“What are you talking about? Stand down, Ranveig!”

One of the Sentries gave a warning shot near Sendak’s ear. He flinched, as did Kolivan.

“I have a job to do,” Ranveig said darkly. “I will not have a _servant class Galra_ ever become a higher rank than me. I had planned for Kolivan to die in that arena, fair or unfair. But…” He roared in agitation. “I am loathed to admit I underestimated his strength. I had planned to drag out the fight until he collapsed, but he was stronger than I anticipated for a servant class. I’ll give the credit to the undeserved training he received.”

“You’re insane,” Kolivan shouted. “Just because I have ridges on my head you want to _kill me_?”

Ranveig grinned like a shark. “Exactly.”

One of the Sentries hissed and sputtered, sparks coming from its head. When the princes glanced at it, Ranveig said, “I had to improvise when I escaped. A quick rewiring of their systems and all that, to make sure they would hunt you and not me.”

Escape? Kolivan glanced at his brother, who growled, “You broke out of the med bay? How?”

“Wasn’t hard. It’s a med bay, not a cell block. And when you’re as big as me, tranqs don’t work _quite_ as long as intended, or as quickly.” His grin grew wider. “Thanks for the message, by the way, Prince Sendak. Really helped narrow down where this sorry whelp was.”

Sendak’s fur bristled. He moved to stand, but the Sentries—in their broken haze—shot him in the arm. He howled and went back down, clutching the blast marks in agony.

Kolivan’s vision went red. He didn’t care if he’d end up with holes in his chest; no one hurt his brother on his watch!

Ranveig’s eyes gleamed. He knew Kolivan was about to move and charged up his weapon.

What happened next came in slow motion.

Sendak and Kolivan rose together, the Sentries immediately fired upon the former as the latter charged Ranveig (Fishbowl gently set on the grass). The huge Galra’s weapon was still charging up, but would be ready to fire before Kolivan could strike. Kolivan knew this. He didn’t care.

Ranveig fired.

And Kolivan screamed.


	6. Lost Kit

Kolivan had fully expected his chest to explode from the laser blast directed at him. He’d fully intended to face it, to kill Ranveig for his treason. He didn’t care if he’d died in the process.

However, when the gun went off, pain didn’t erupt from his torso. No laser pierced his heart.

Before he’d realized what happened, he had stopped dead in his tracks. Instead of Ranveig shooting him…

He’d shot Marmora.

The older Galra had taken the laser to his chest, flinching only a little before charging and stabbing Ranveig through the eye with his dao. Ranveig howled in agony and used his gun to slap Marmora away. Marmora hit a nearby tree with a sickening crunch, screamed in pain, and hit the ground with a whimper. His dao had been dropped in front of Ranveig the moment he’d been hit.

Kolivan screamed and saw red. He didn’t care about Sendak, didn’t care about the Sentries, didn’t care about the fish behind him. He wanted blood.

Picking up Marmora’s dao, Kolivan rushed Ranveig before the giant Galra had a chance to recover. He stabbed Ranveig in the chest and legs, dodging the sweeps of the gun. In the background, he heard the sounds of Sentries getting destroyed.

Ranveig managed to grab Kolivan by his leg as he rolled away from a swipe. He slammed Kolivan into the ground several times, knocking the wind out of him. Before Ranveig could stomp on Kolivan’s head, Sendak tackled him hard. The two went tumbling.

Kolivan propped himself up, watching as Sendak perched himself on Ranveig’s shoulders and proceeded to punch the ever-loving quiznak out of him. Kolivan had no idea what had happened to his blade, but then he looked towards the ruined Sentries and realized one of them was still pinned by it.

Kolivan saw Marmora still lying by the tree. He was shaking and bleeding, trying to put pressure on his wound. Kolivan’s vision went red again, but this time he kept his emotions under control. He picked up the dao again and walked slowly towards his brother and Ranveig.

Sendak had Ranveig in a choke hold, snarling threats into his ear. When the two noticed Kolivan, they began to still. Sendak nodded, still holding Ranveig down.

Ranveig spat at Kolivan’s feet. “You miserable whelp,” he snarled. “You think this is the end? I will break out of whatever prison you make for me! I will hunt you down no matter how high you climb! You will be nothing more than a _servant_!”

“You’re wrong, Ranveig,” Kolivan said calmly. “I’m a prince. And that means I have the authority to _legally execute_ any criminal I want.”

Ranveig’s good eye sparked with fear. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Sendak hissed, “He’s a son of Zarkon. Fostered or not, he’s within his rights to do this.” He grinned wickedly. “And even if he didn’t want to do it, _I would_.”

Kolivan raised his sword up. “Ex-Commander Ranveig,” he declared. “For your treasonous crimes against the crown and Daibazaal’s own citizens, you are hereby sentenced to death. So says _Prince_ Kolivan.”

Before Ranveig could break out of Sendak’s grip or say anything in his defense, Kolivan struck his skull. The large Galra instantly sagged, shock frozen on his now-dead face. Sendak released him and the body fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Kolivan helped his brother up. Sendak clapped him on the back, grinning. “Well, I’m sure Dad will understand the mess.” He looked over at Marmora’s shack, which had begun to collapse from the fire. “Wish we could have saved the house…”

The brothers looked over towards Marmora, who had managed to lean against the tree awkwardly. Kolivan dropped his dao and rushed to the older Galra’s side. Sendak was slower going.

Kolivan ripped up part of his outfit to try and cover the wound. “Stay with me, Marmora,” he said, voice shaking. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you to a pod—”

“None…close enough…” Marmora coughed and spat up blood.

Sendak materialized next to them. Kolivan noticed he’d picked up the fishbowl. “We can still help you,” Sendak said softly. “Tell us what to do.”

Marmora gave a shaky smile. “The…The Nalqu-quodian pod…”

Sendak’s ears perked up. “Is that close enough? Can we get you in that and deliver you to a hospital?”

“Auto-pilot…will only…take it back…to the mother ship…”

Kolivan held Marmora’s hand. “Then that’s your best chance. If nothing else, you’ll finally be on Nalquod with your lover again.”

Sendak nodded. “And when you’re healed, I can get your kit—your son—to come to you. Prince’s honor.”

Marmora shook his head, grimacing. His skin was paling. “He’s…already with me…”

“What?” Kolivan asked. Marmora had lost a lot of blood; clearly, he was delirious. “Marmora, no. He’s not here right now.” He turned to Sendak. “Grab his legs, I’ll hold his torso.”

The brothers hauled Marmora up slowly and gently. The older Galra protested, but was quickly losing consciousness. Somehow, Sendak had convinced Marmora to take the fishbowl, to give his mind something to focus on. It worked, but only just.

“Where’s your pod?” Kolivan asked.

Marmora shakily pointed East. “About a quar…quarter mile…East…”

They set off at a painfully slow pace. Once or twice, Marmora nearly slipped into unconsciousness, but Kolivan had discovered that the bioluminescent fish would flash brightly and quickly when the bowl began to slip from his fingers. Kolivan would then remind him to stay awake, to keep him talking somehow.

“Tell me about your son,” Kolivan prompted. They were maneuvering past a lot of brush.

“He’s…” Marmora coughed and spat blood. “He’s…beautiful…”

“Go on.”

“His fur…is so…so blue. Like pond water…” Another cough. The fishbowl jostled a bit. “Ridge…like mine…”

Sendak withdrew his sword to cut at a few low-hanging branches. Marmora groaned at the movement, still managing to keep the fishbowl balanced.

“I think I see it,” Sendak announced.

“How far?” Kolivan asked.

“Not much further. Just beyond the tree line.”

Kolivan looked back down to Marmora, who had closed his eyes and began rasping. “Marmora,” he said. “We’re almost there. Just hang on.”

Hazy eyes opened—far too hazy. The older Galra was slipping. “M…Muh…”

“Hang on,” Kolivan pleaded. “Just hang on. For your lover. For your kit.”

Marmora smiled. “My…kit…”

“Yes, keep talking about him.”

But Marmora didn’t speak. He only looked up at Kolivan, still smiling. Tears flooded his eyes.

Kolivan looked up as they all entered a clearing. An indigo pod, paint worn and chipping from years of sitting in nature, sat undisturbed near the base of a cliff. The cliff itself heralded the start of the mountains beyond. Because of its isolated location, the pod was actually well-disguised, even as colorful as it was. Kolivan recognized the Nalquodian craftmanship, with the curved hull and watery design overall—just like the trinkets that had littered Marmora’s ruined shack.

Kolivan and Sendak opened the pod easily enough, and they managed to secure Marmora (and the fish) into an emergency cot behind the pilot seat. Sendak sat in the front, punching in emergency codes, but the pod didn’t respond. He cursed.

“Code…” Marmora murmured. “Only works…with ruh…royal…code…”

Sendak typed a royal code, but still nothing happened. He tried again, heralding the same results.

Marmora murmured something. Kolivan leaned in to listen. His voice was weak, fading fast, but Kolivan managed to hear the correct code. He relayed it to Sendak, who immediately got the pod working.

With a lurch, the pod took off. Kolivan hadn’t been strapped in, so he barely caught himself from falling onto Marmora. As they left the atmosphere, Marmora’s wheezing grew more desperate.

Sendak stood up and rummaged around. “Do Nalquodians not store med kits in their pods?” he snarled. “Not even a first aid station?”

“Calm down,” Kolivan demanded. “Medical supplies don’t last very long if not kept in a safe place. A random pod out in nature would not be a good storage space, especially if some random passerby just happened to stumble upon it.”

Sendak only growled in response.

“My…kit…”

Kolivan turned back to Marmora. The older Galra had paled even further, and his too-foggy eyes were still locked on to Kolivan. A soft smile lit up his face. “So proud,” he said softly. “I’m so…so…proud.”

Kolivan furrowed his brow. “I’m sure you are proud of him.”

Finally, Sendak found a small med kit. It wasn’t filled with much, but what it did have was good enough to delay Marmora’s descent into death. “Here.” He offered Kolivan some bandages.

The brothers set to work. Marmora didn’t protest or move as Sendak applied pressure and Kolivan wrapped the wounds. He only kept looking at Kolivan, kept smiling.

“So proud,” he repeated. “My…son…”

“We can contact your son after we arrive on Nalquod,” Sendak persisted. “What’s his name? Where does he live?”

Kolivan felt a hand grasp his own. Marmora’s hand was clammy and cold, yet he had strength enough to keep a firm grip. “Marmora…?”

The older Galra choked on his own tears. His smile widened. “I’m so…proud of you…my son…”

Kolivan blinked. He must have heard Marmora wrong—or Marmora was too delirious to know up from down. “Marmora, your son isn’t here,” he insisted. “It’s just—”

“Prince Sendak…and you,” Marmora finished shakily. “I know…my…kit…anywhere…My little…my pondling…”

Marmora reached up to touch Kolivan’s ridge, right at the bump furthest down his forehead. Fingers brushed down the bridge of his nose, past his lips, and finally trailed along his jaw. The gesture was extremely personal, reserved for parents and their most precious blood kits. Zarkon never did that with Kolivan or Sendak, or any of his other children; only High Prince Lotor. Lavrah, as much as she loved Kolivan, would only give the gesture to Sendak, her blood child. It was an instinct that no parent could deny, no matter how much it could affect their foster or step kits.

So, to _finally_ feel this, after being denied such a gesture all of his life…Kolivan wanted to hide.

He looked at Marmora—really looked at him. The ridge was obviously the same, but that proved nothing. Marmora’s jawline was similar to Kolivan’s own, as was his general head shape. And his eyes…

_“Like mine,”_ Marmora had said. And in that regard, it was true. Marmora had yellow sclera and red irises. So did Kolivan.

“Kolivan?” Sendak asked, waving a hand in front of his face. “Kolivan, are you okay?”

No.

He wasn’t okay.

Kolivan backed away from Marmora, who weakly reached out to him. His eyes were filling with tears again, but not in happiness. He wanted his kit. Wanted his son there next to him.

Kolivan wanted his…his dam. Wanted Marmora to _be_ his dam. He wanted to curl up next to his dam and finally feel like he belonged.

But he couldn’t. His mind raced, but everything felt slow. He backed up to the opposite wall and faced away from Sendak and Marmora. He couldn’t face them, or the implications behind Marmora’s revelation.

He shut down.

* * *

Sendak didn’t know what happened at first. Marmora had said something to Kolivan. Something that had spooked his younger brother. Kolivan had backed away, curling against himself.

Marmora reached out shakily for Kolivan. His breath hitched and he managed to squeak, “My…kit…please…come ba…ck…”

Sendak looked at his brother again. Kolivan began to tremble and formed a tighter ball. The implications slammed into Sendak like a boulder.

Sendak watched as Marmora fell unconscious. Watched as Kolivan grew still. Watched the fish swim anxiously in their little bowl.

It seemed like an eternity later when their pod began to beep. They were entering Nalquod’s atmosphere, and therefore were being hailed.

Sendak spared one last glance at his fellow passengers. Marmora was still alive, but only barely. Kolivan was catatonic. He sighed and went to the pilot’s seat to answer the hail.

“This is Prince Sendak of Daibazaal,” he answered. “I know this pod is rather unorthodox, but it was an emergency. We have a Galra passenger with mortal injuries that needs to be transported to a healing pod _immediately_.”

_“Understood, your highness,”_ came the answer after a short pause. _“Are you able to steer the pod?”_

“Negative. It’s set to forced autopilot and will only return to its mother ship.” He read off the code Marmora had given. “If you can find out which ship has that code attached to it, you can meet us there as soon as we arrive.”

Another pause. Then, _“Prince Sendak, that is the King’s royal code. How did you come by it?”_

“We can discuss that _after_ my friend gets medical treatment,” Sendak snapped.

_“Understood. There is a med bay aboard the pod’s mother ship. We’ll have doctors on standby as soon as the pod docks.”_

* * *

The Nalquodians had been telling the truth. The pod hadn’t even been docked for three seconds before the doors flew open and medics rushed in. Marmora was gently cradled between several Nalquodians, who raced out with him in no time. Someone also checked over Kolivan, who was still detached from reality. Somehow, he’d gotten a hold of the fishbowl and refused to let go of it. The medic allowed him to keep it, but still led him away.

The Nalquodian ambassador stopped Sendak as the prince exited the pod. Both parties bowed. “Prince Sendak,” the ambassador began. “We welcome you to Nalquod. Lord Blaytz is currently off-world with Madame Trigel, but he has been informed that his royal pod has returned.”

Sendak nodded. “I apologize for the odd situation, but we had no choice.” Sendak then registered the fact that the pod—and the ship—belonged to Blaytz himself. “Wait…Blaytz? _Blaytz_?”

“Yes,” the ambassador confirmed. He looked confused. “This pod was a gift to Lord Blaytz’s love. It’s become a legend on Nalquod that should the pod return, a wedding will soon follow.”

Sendak’s ears lowered. “Let’s hope it’s not a funeral.”

“Our healers will do whatever it takes to save Hara Marmora.”

“You know his name?”

The ambassador smiled. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

Sendak clicked his tongue, but said nothing. He was still reeling from the previous knowledge that Marmora had had a Nalquodian lover—and no matter how much he preached open-mindedness, he still had to get used to different lifestyles. To find out that Marmora had gotten the favor of Blaytz himself…it was a lot to think about. And if Kolivan was Marmora’s kit, that meant…

Sendak blinked. Kolivan. “Where did you take my brother?” The word ‘brother’, a word he’d used all his life, suddenly felt foreign. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it get to him. “He’s not in a good headspace.”

“Prince Kolivan has been led off the ship, as he refused to move to the med bay for some reason, so an escort led him to the palace.”

“He’s a bit fragile right now,” Sendak explained. “Marmora was…he’s very…Marmora is special to Kolivan.”

The Nalquodian blinked, tilting his head. After a few moments, he nodded. “Of course. Now, about your lodgings?”

Sendak arranged for him and Kolivan to stay in a guest room of Blaytz’s palace until either Blaytz returned or Zarkon arrived to chew them out for leaving the planet unannounced. The brothers would be contacted the moment Marmora stepped out of a healing pod.

Sendak made his way to his and Kolivan’s shared room quickly. When he entered, he found Kolivan huddled on the couch. The fish had been moved to a larger tank, swimming in a more relaxed manner, though the bioluminescent fish still pulsed anxiously.

Kolivan’s eyes were rimmed with red, and tear streaks marred his facial fur. He looked up at Sendak with a face twisted in absolute agony. Gone was the cool and collected demeanor Sendak had always seen his brother assume. Now, sitting before him, was a lost kit.

“Brother,” Sendak whispered. He rushed over to Kolivan and hugged him.

“He’s…” Kolivan choked on a sob, trying to speak. His voice was thick with grief. “He’s my dam, Sendak…”

“He’s gonna be fine. The medics got him to a pod in time.”

Kolivan broke the hug first. He looked so desperate. It broke Sendak’s heart. “What do I do?”

Sendak sighed. “I don’t know. I guess, just talk to Marmora when he wakes up. He seemed determined to be near you earlier.”

Kolivan’s ears lowered. “I don’t feel very good…”

As if he were suddenly a child who couldn’t do anything but say his tummy hurts. Sendak nearly laughed at the whine. “Hey.” He forced Kolivan to look his way. “You’re still my brother. I don’t care if you’re half-Nalquodian, half-Altean, half-Weblum. You’re my brother, and no newfound parents are ever going to change that.”

His brother finally found a smile. It was small, but bright. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

As it turned out, Blaytz and Zarkon ended up arriving together. When Sendak had contacted Zarkon to catch the Emperor up on their misadventure, Blaytz had called soon after to offer Zarkon a ride. Since Daibazaal was between the Dalterion Belt and Nalquod, it only made sense for Blaytz to stop and pick up Zarkon. And since it was Trigel’s ship being used for transport, that meant Zarkon and his sons’ ride home was secured as well.

Both Sendak and Kolivan managed to meet Zarkon as soon as the Dalterion ship landed about 2 days later. Both princes had been given a new set of clothes, and Sendak had to admit that Kolivan looked very natural in Nalquodian linens.

Kolivan, though back to his normal stone-faced demeanor, was still feeling awkward—especially around the Nalquodians. He refused to speak about his heritage with Sendak, which worked just fine since Sendak didn’t want to talk about it anyway. He found ways to distract Kolivan from feeling like an outsider, like sparring or taking care of the fish in their room. Or even taking a walk outside the palace. Once, Sendak joked that they could go swimming, but Kolivan’s hard glare silenced him for half a varga.

Neither of them had visited Marmora, though once or twice Sendak had been updated on his ever-improving condition. Within another quintant, it seemed Marmora would be released from his medical pod. Kolivan seemed relieved, though he never tried to visit his dam.

Sendak shifted on his feet. His ears were already ringing from the incoming chew-out. Escaping Ranveig aside, it was not exactly allowed for princes to go off-world without permission or orders.

“Father,” both princes called, bowing respectfully.

Zarkon swept both Sendak and Kolivan into a giant hug, lifting both of them off the ground and squishing them against his chest. When he put them down, he didn’t let them go. “Don’t ever worry me like that again,” he growled.

Sendak and Kolivan exchanged smiles.

Then, Zarkon broke the hug and drew himself up to his full height. Dad Mode had turned off. It was back to Emperor Mode. “What were you two thinking?” he demanded. “Kolivan, you’re recovering from Virlak Venom, for goodness sake! You should have immediately come _home_!”

Kolivan hunched his shoulders. He’d been pretty much cleared from the worst of the venom after arriving on Nalquod, but Zarkon didn’t know that. “I apologize, Father. But, in our defense, it was an emergency. The pod was the closest transportation, but it could only travel to Nalquod, not the nearest hospital.”

Blaytz seemed to materialize next to Zarkon. Sendak tried not to look between him and Kolivan too much; he’d not told his brother of his sire, but Kolivan had pieced it together on his own. Royal pod, Nalquodian lover; who else could it have been?

“How did you find that pod?” Blaytz demanded. “Who gave you the code?” The Nalquodian leader sounded desperate, which was understandable.

Sendak chose to answer, “Marmora did. He’s in your command ship’s med bay, in a healing pod.”

Blaytz rushed past them instantly. Zarkon sighed, shaking his head. “So impulsive.” He looked at his sons. “Who’s Marmora?”

The princes shared a look. Then, Kolivan said, “Well…Marmora is Blaytz’s lover. He’s a former servant class Galra.”

Zarkon’s eyes became distant for half a second, as if in thought. Then, he threw his head back and sighed loudly. “Oh, spirits have mercy,” he groaned. “I know exactly which servant that was…”

“You remember him?” Sendak asked.

“Not his face, but I do remember Blaytz trying and _failing_ to hide his dalliance with that ser—that Galra. Back then, I didn’t exactly approve, but since Blaytz was so smitten I decided it wouldn’t hurt to make an exception to the old class rules.”

“You would have let them be together?” Kolivan perked his ears up.

“If Blaytz had swept a Galra off their feet and into Nalquod’s atmosphere, there’s not much I can do to stop him.” Zarkon crossed his arms. “But I was really hoping he wouldn’t do it, for fear it might start a mass exodus. And then the revolution happened, and I couldn’t keep track of which servant was which, so I never knew what happened to Blaytz’s lover.”

Kolivan’s eyes widened slightly. “What if they’d—"

“Why the questions?” Zarkon suddenly asked. “This should be the other way around. I still have to ask _you two_ a million questions, here!”

The brothers dropped their heads, but smiled nonetheless. They submitted to Zarkon’s seemingly endless barrage of questions and parental rantings, and Sendak knew Kolivan was listening about as much as he was—not even a little sentence was really getting through.

As Zarkon heard his sons’ explanations and about Ranveig’s execution, he seemed to calm down. When Kolivan told him about declaring Ranveig a traitor and killing him, Zarkon puffed out his chest and laughed.

“Good job, son,” he bellowed. “If you hadn’t done that, I certainly would have. He deserved to be executed for attempting to assassinate two of my sons!”

As the three began to relax around each other, a Nalquodian interrupted them. It was a medic. “Emperor Zarkon, Princes,” he greeted. “Marmora has awoken.”


	7. Found Pup

When the three Galra arrived, a flurry of medics were sent away. Many of them looked displeased that they couldn’t continue helping their charge, but Kolivan knew it was because Blaytz wouldn’t let go of Marmora.

The two were woven together in an embrace so tight they could have been one being. Tears streaked down Blaytz’s face, and though Kolivan couldn’t see Marmora, he knew there were tears on his face, too.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he heard Blaytz murmur.

Marmora whispered something, but his voice was too soft and hoarse for Kolivan to pick up.

“Blaytz,” Zarkon said after a cough.

The two broke their hug with clear dissatisfaction. The Nalquod leader looked annoyed. “Zarkon, what?”

“My sons would like to have a turn.”

Blaytz looked ready to protest, but Marmora held his arm. The brothers stepped forward and kneeled in front of Marmora respectfully.

“Thank you for healing Kolivan,” Sendak said first. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t saved him from the venom.”

“And thank you for taking that laser,” Kolivan added. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have been able to defeat Ranveig.”

Marmora smiled. “It was nothing, Princes.”

He turned to Zarkon. “My Emperor, would you and Prince Sendak mind giving us some time alone? I have something personal to discuss with Prince Kolivan.”

Zarkon nodded. “Anything for the Galra who saved my son. Come, Sendak.”

Sendak rose and half-turned, then seemed to think again. He faced Blaytz, who had also risen to leave. “Lord Blaytz,” he said. “You should probably stay.”

The Nalquodian looked confused. He blinked at Marmora, who nodded. So, he sat down again, waiting for Zarkon and Sendak to shut the doors.

Marmora moved to stand, but he was still weak. Both Kolivan and Blaytz steadied him against the healing pod from which Marmora had exited.

Blaytz grumbled, “I’ve got him.”

Kolivan backed off.

Marmora smacked Blaytz lightly on the arm after catching his breath. “I’m fine. I would never turn down his help—or yours.” He looked to Kolivan. “I don’t remember much after the fight, but…from your hesitant posture I can only assume I spilled the beans…”

Kolivan nodded, his breath hitching. “It…” His voice cracked, so he coughed and tried again. “It certainly made for an _interesting_ trip.”

Blaytz tilted his head. “Uh,” he drawled. “Is there something I’m missing?”

Marmora’s eyes filled up with tears, but his small smile was bright. “Blaytz. Take a good look at Kolivan.”

The Nalquodian looked at Kolivan with narrowed eyes. “Okay? He’s got a new scar,” he noted. “Other than that, he’s not changed much since last I saw him.”

This was true. Kolivan and Blaytz had never really talked together—not since he had been a kit, swimming in the pools and having so much fun that Blaytz couldn’t resist playing with him. Of course, neither of them had known they were father and son. It certainly explained their ease around each other, especially in the water.

Marmora said, “Look a little harder, my love. What do you see in his eyes? His face? His colors?”

Kolivan tried not to shrink under Blaytz’s increasingly studious gaze. He absentmindedly played with his braid, debating on wrapping it around his neck like he usually did for battles or official business. His ears twitched downwards in his uncomfortable state.

Suddenly, Blaytz’s features softened in surprise. It was as if a light had flicked on in his brain. He looked at Marmora, eyes wide. “Is…Is Kolivan…?”

Marmora broke into a grin, tears streaming down his face. “He’s our son.”

If Blaytz hadn’t been sitting, Kolivan was sure he’d have fainted. Blaytz’s eyes found Kolivan’s, and he could see the Nalquodian trying to reevaluate his views of the young Galra.

And Kolivan was doing the same mental gymnastics. No longer was Blaytz a friend of the family, ally to his people. Now, he was Kolivan’s sire, his birth father, the one responsible for Kolivan’s colors and affinity for water.

A hand touched Kolivan’s crest. He melted into the touch, knowing it was Marmora’s. His dam—his _dam_—touched foreheads with him, purring. He purred in response and closed his eyes. His dam’s scent wafted into his nose, causing tears to sting at the edges of his eyes.

“Hey,” Blaytz protested, his voice thick. “Let me in on this!”

A new, smoother head bumped into Kolivan’s, fitting perfectly as if it were always meant to be there. Though Blaytz couldn’t purr, his rumbling laughter made up for it. He wrapped his arms around Marmora and Kolivan.

“Ah.” Kolivan broke away first, wiping tears from his cheeks. “I suppose my first concern about what we do from here is…what do I call you?”

Blaytz’s ears perked up. “Oh, I guess it would be kinda awkward to call me Father around Zarkon…Do you still consider him your father?”

Kolivan nodded. “He raised me. He’s my family as much as either of you. So is Sendak. And my mother.”

Marmora stiffened only slightly at the word, but then he relaxed. “Perhaps, you could just call me your Dam,” he offered. “It is easier, and Lavrah will want to fight over being called Mother, I’m sure.”

He’d said it as a joke, but Kolivan knew otherwise. Lavrah would have fought over the right to being called Mother.

“How about this,” Blaytz said. “_Vaak._ It’s the Nalquodian word for ‘father.’”

“_Vaak_,” Kolivan tested. It rolled off his tongue easily. He smiled. “I like it.”

Blaytz grinned. “So do I!”

They hugged again.

* * *

When Blaytz gave the order to open the med bay again, the medics rushed in first to make sure Marmora was still awake. Zarkon and Sendak entered second, hovering just out of sight as Blaytz and Kolivan were shoved aside. Trigel was also present, now. She gave Blaytz a knowing look, glancing away when her eyes met Kolivan’s.

When everything seemed to settle, Marmora was able to stand and embrace Blaytz again. Kolivan tried to give them space, but Blaytz pulled him in.

Kolivan caught Sendak’s gaze. His brother snickered.

Finally, Zarkon, Sendak, and Trigel made their way to the trio. “It seems we must have missed something important,” Zarkon said.

“You might say that,” Blaytz answered.

Trigel slapped his arm lightly. “I see you did _not_ heed my advice all those years ago. You kept in touch with that Galra, you sly sea dog!”

She then held out her arm to Marmora. “You are one lucky guy. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you two finally together openly.”

Marmora grasped arms with her, beaming. “I am also very happy, Madame Trigel.”

Blaytz nuzzled him. “Stop with the formal titles. You’re with me now, love. And I decree you don’t have to be so formal!”

Marmora nervously glanced at Zarkon, who shrugged and sighed.

Blaytz then said to Zarkon, “By the way…did I ever tell you about the time I apparently sired a half-Galran kit?” He wrapped his other arm around Kolivan tightly. “Because I did.”

Sendak put his face in one of his hands. Kolivan felt absolutely horrified. Zarkon and Trigel blinked in astonishment.

“Kolivan,” Zarkon stuttered. “Is…Is that true?”

He nodded, swallowing a large lump in his throat. “It is, Father…”

Sendak rushed forward and hugged Kolivan. “Thank the spirits you decided not to keep it a secret! I didn’t wanna hold that in longer than, like, a day!”

Zarkon sighed, though he was smiling. “Well, then. This has certainly turned out to be an interesting week.” He joined in the hug, albeit slightly hesitant. “It seems my son has found his real family…”

“I always had a real family,” Kolivan said. “It’s just gotten bigger.”


	8. Epilogue

Standing in front of a mirror in his Nalquodian living quarters, Kolivan adjusted the sash on his shoulder. It kept slipping, and he was starting to get annoyed.

Currently, he was dressed in ceremonial Nalquodian robes; puffy orange pants, tan boots with pointed toes, a sunset-colored long-sleeved robe, and a bunch of royal jewels strewn across his wrists, waist, and neck. Tied around his waist was a royal Galra overskirt, and a red Galran sash adorned his shoulder.

The very same sash that kept slipping. He swore loudly as it fell below his knees.

A chuckle echoed behind him.

Kolivan turned to see his dam hovering in the doorway. Marmora was in a similar outfit, though his entire color scheme was blue. A light veil sat atop his head, pulled back so he could see where he was going. A beautiful jeweled necklace hung around his neck—Blaytz’s proposal necklace.

“Let me,” Marmora offered. He adjusted the sash at Kolivan’s back, tightening it easily.

“Thank you.”

They bumped foreheads, a common gesture for them now that their familial relationship was out in the open. Kolivan smiled, purring.

“Are you ready?” Marmora asked. He began to braid Kolivan’s hair.

“I’ve been through ceremonies like this since I could walk,” he bragged. “But are you ready?”

Marmora smiled wistfully. “Maybe I wasn’t raised in this environment, but I think all these weeks of preparation have given me confidence that I won’t trip.”

They chuckled.

Eventually, Marmora wrapped Kolivan’s braid around his neck, tying it off with a red ribbon. “There. My handsome kit is glowing,” he said while looking at him through the mirror.

“My dam,” Kolivan murmured. “I’m no match for your shine.”

A knock at the door meant their escort had arrived. The Nalquodian was just as formally dressed, but nowhere near as flashy as Kolivan and Marmora.

“Hara Marmora, Prince Kolivan,” the escort greeted. “Lord Blaytz awaits.”

Marmora veiled his face and soon the two were led through a hallway, which ended at a grand waterfall overhang. Zarkon stood in the middle of the overhang, Blaytz in front of him. Both wore their kingly formal garbs.

Sendak, Prince Lotor, and Lavrah stood off to one side, and Alfor, Trigel, and Gyrgan to the other. And below the overhang, crammed along the riverside and beyond, were as many Nalquodians that could be there. After all…

…it wasn’t every day a Galra married the Nalquodian leader.

Kolivan led his dam down the aisle and bowed before Blaytz. Then, he joined Sendak and the rest of his Galra family.

Zarkon gave out the marriage speech, bonding Marmora and Blaytz together. As Blaytz cast away Marmora’s veil to kiss him, the crown below cheered so loud they could have made the planet quake.

Blaytz stepped forward with Marmora. “My friends,” he called down. “Today, my family has grown! Not only are we celebrating my love, Marmora, joining our clan. This will also be the official introduction of our son! Sired of Nalquodian and Galran blood, I present to you, your prince: Kolivan!”

Kolivan rejoined Marmora at Blaytz’s side. He bowed his head as the crowd howled in glee and acceptance. Blaytz placed a prince’s headdress on him.

When he rose, the crowd went silent. Kolivan rose his voice, hoping it wouldn’t crack.

“I am Prince Kolivan of Nalquod _and_ Daibazaal,” he bellowed. “I will resign my position for the crown of Nalquod, out of respect for my half siblings, who have likely trained for their entire lives to succeed my father.

“I also am now the acting Galra ambassador to Nalquod,” he continued. “So that I may both keep in touch with my Galran family…”

He looked to Sendak, who nodded. He now sported a new cybernetic eye.

“…and get to know my Nalquodian family.”

Blaytz grinned proudly. A few whoops filled the air below them.

“I hope to do both my worlds proud. When I look out to all who stand before me, I don’t see several different alien species.”

Kolivan lifted his head proudly, taking Marmora’s and Blaytz’s hands. “I see family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~! I hope y'all enjoyed and I do apologize for the rushed-feeling ending. Check out ThaceMun for more of their amazing art!


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